


Size Does Matter

by twigglettz



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, I tried to write just porn, M/M, PWP, Size Kink, Smut, but then I feelinged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 23:06:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7381204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twigglettz/pseuds/twigglettz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the start, Jon was embarassed by the size differences. He never thought he was scrawny, at least not compared to others at Winterfell, but he knew he could never stand at eye level with Tormund</p>
            </blockquote>





	Size Does Matter

Tormund was bigger than him in every way. Taller, broader, longer. When they lay together, he smothered Jon underneath him, larger hands, wider chest pinning him down and making him fight for every breath. Tormund's beard would tickle down his thighs, following calloused fingers, his thick cock trailing down his leg as Tormund took him in his mouth. Gods, Jon couldn't get enough. 

At the start, Jon was embarrassed by the size differences. He never thought he was scrawny, at least not compared to others at Winterfell, but he knew he could never stand at eye level with Tormund. He was a beast of a man, all muscle and height and sheer strength, and Jon's instinct screamed run. The first time they'd fucked, Tormund had used it to his advantage. He'd pinned Jon against his bedroom wall, head dipping, claiming his lips with his own before Jon had even realised that he wanted it to happen. And for the first time since Jon had come to Castle Black, he'd yielded.

It wasn't always easy with Tormund. His cock was thick, long, and no matter how much he prepared Jon, the burn when he pushed into him was almost blinding. He was a kind lover though. He stroked Jon's hair, kissed his face, shifted his weight so Jon could gasp and moan underneath him. And when Jon was ready, he'd utterly destroy him. Tormund always took his time. His slow, steady, deep thrusts drove Jon to the brink of madness, crying out, begging for more, fingers clasping in the furs underneath them. Tormund would let his weight sink back down, chest against chest, elbows and forearms resting squarely on the bed either side of Jon's head. It took all of his strength to just keep breathing. Every time, Tormund would laugh breathlessly, deliberately hitting that spot inside him that made him keen and whine and dig his fingernails into Tormund's flesh. The sound would send a heat up through Jon's body that was wholly separate from his lust, and whatever was left of Jon's rational mind refused to contemplate the meaning. 

Tormund could fuck for hours, and with the completely obscene things he did with his thick fingers and slick tongue, Jon sometimes lost whole nights wrapped up in him. He'd emerge from his quarters soaked in sweat, eyes glazed, lungs heaving to take in the morning air and have to pretend that he was fully alive enough to lead. Tormund would follow closely behind, glaring over Jon's head whenever there were whispers or stares. He always wanted to scold Tormund for it, wanted to tell him that he could very well look after himself, he was Lord Commander for fuck's sake. But when he turned around, Tormund looked so effortlessly pleased with himself that Jon couldn't bear to wipe the smile off his face. Not in public anyway.

Some nights Jon would ride him, take his own pleasure from Tormund when he'd disobeyed orders and needed to be punished. His knees would barely reach the furs around Tormund's hips, hands covering so little of his chest when he balanced himself. Jon would set a punishing pace, the wood of the bed creaking under their weight every time he moved. It never lasted long though. Tormund would wait until Jon was painfully close, babbling his name and begging to be touched, and then he'd push at Jon's shoulders until he was on his back, Tormund still sheathed inside him. He'd start slow, missing Jon's spot, and when Jon's throat was raw from pleading, Tormund would finally oblige. Leaning down, he'd murmur praises in Jon's ear, taking both of his wrists in one hand and fucking him so deep that Jon wouldn't be able to ride a horse for days. Such a good little crow, so pretty, so good at taking cock. He never lasted long after that, the hair on Tormund's belly creating the perfect kind of friction against him, his come smearing between their bodies. Tormund always growled at the slickness, his hips picking up speed as he neared his release. Jon would writhe and jerk underneath him, the pleasure almost too much, his hands fumbling to get out of Tormund's grip and his mind desperately trying to come up with words, any words, to scream. And then Tormund would shudder, sinking deep into him and pressing his forehead against Jon's. He'd pull out carefully, kissing his face, his neck, his chest, before rolling them both over on their side. Jon would curl up into him, head buried under Tormund's chin, body still shaking, and Tormund would drape his arms around him, the weight a comforting reminder of who Jon shared a bed with. 

Looking back, Jon couldn't remember why he'd ever had a problem with Tormund's size.

**Author's Note:**

> I got annoyed by the lack of Jonmund so I wrote my own.


End file.
